


flowers are the music of the ground

by enbytim



Series: can we speak in flowers [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, EMT Ian Gallagher, Florist Mickey Milkovich, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbytim/pseuds/enbytim
Summary: “This is probably gonna sound weird.” Ian says, trying not to roll his eyes at how dumb he no doubt sounds. “But you got any idea how to say ‘fuck you’ with flowers?”The guy –Mickey– snorts and his eyebrows are nearing his hairline. He’s giving Ian alook, like he’s a complete idiot for even asking, but there’s something in it that makes Ian think he’s not really being laughedat.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: can we speak in flowers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644856
Comments: 13
Kudos: 164





	flowers are the music of the ground

**Author's Note:**

> everyone has been so nice about part one that i wanted to write a followup :) a lot of the first section is just the same as the last, but from ian's pov, so i'm sorry for the repeated dialogue but i'm tryna get into ian's head

Ian finally works up the nerve on a Tuesday.

It takes him ten minutes of hanging out on the corner opposite before he manages to cross the street and go inside, but still. Decision made. Decisive action. Whatever. He’s here, is the point. The bell above the door tinkles when he steps inside, and again when he eases the door shut behind him. He doesn’t even think about it as he scrapes the soles of his work boots against the welcome mat. The moment he realises, he scoffs and slowly shakes his head. He steps further into the shop and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. There are several racks of flowers between him and the back of the store, so he starts weaving amongst the flowers. He’ll be the first to admit he doesn’t know much beyond the absolute basics; he knows what a rose looks like, a lily, sunflowers. That kinda thing. He _definitely_ doesn’t know anything about the bright pink ones brushing against his shoulder, other than the fact they’re pretty.

He’s dragging his feet and he knows it, but he tells himself he’s using the extra time to practice what to say when he reaches the counter. For all the thought he’s put into it, he knows as soon as he gets there, he won’t say any of what he’s practiced. The flowers are so thick that he really only gets flashes of the guy behind the counter as he approaches; black hair, a scowl, the brown strap of an apron.

It does nothing to prepare him for the whole picture. Ian steps out from behind the final rack and feels his breath catch in his throat. This guy is… _beautiful_. He’s leant against the counter, all casual confidence despite the small frown firmly in place as he watches Ian approach. Even at a distance he can see how blue his eyes are. Ian runs a hand through his hair and steps up to the counter. There’s a white plastic nametag on his chest that reads _Mickey._ Ian takes a deep breath.

“This is probably gonna sound weird.” Ian says, trying not to roll his eyes at how dumb he no doubt sounds. “But you got any idea how to say ‘fuck you’ with flowers?”

The guy – _Mickey_ – snorts and his eyebrows are nearing his hairline. He’s giving Ian a _look_ , like he’s a complete idiot for even asking, but there’s something in it that makes Ian think he’s not really being laughed _at_. After a few moments, Mickey grins. Ian swallows around a suddenly dry throat.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”

Ian feels himself smile. He ducks his head to try and hide it, and scratches at the stubble on his jaw.

“Does it matter?”

Mickey chews on his bottom lip and gives him a steady look.

“Not really, but I’m curious. Pretty elaborate set up unless they did somethin’ really bad to piss you off.”

Ian’s smile slowly drops away as he forces himself to shrug. He tries not to think about Marcus, and the quickfire way things had gone from happy, _giddy_ even, to being manhandled out of the old lady’s stupid fucking shop. Or the two six-packs they’d worked their way through on the Gallagher’s couch and the incredibly bad hangover he’d had to suffer a fourteen-hour shift with the next day.

Mickey drops his pen into a jar crammed with others. He rubs at the corner of his eye.

“Hey, man, it’s none of my business. I’m still gonna do it, so long as you’ve got the cash. You can tell _me_ to fuck off if you want. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Ian’s mouth twitches against his will and he sighs. He curls in on himself a little, tenses his shoulders, and steels himself for the worst. Mickey’s watching him with a raised eyebrow. Here goes nothing.

“My friend’s getting married in a month and wanted me to help pick out the flowers. We show up at the florist he picked out and the old lady behind the counter asks if we’re together. My buddy says yeah, y’know. As a joke. And she starts going off about how ‘sodomy is a sin’ and how we’re going to hell. Refuses to serve him, basically threatens to call the fuckin’ cops on us if we don’t leave. He’s not even gay.”

And, well… Now it’s out there. More or less. He’s not gonna pretend he’s _not_ , even though Mickey’s undoubtedly straight. Mickey scratches at his eye again and, to Ian’s surprise, smiles.

“That wrinkly old Q-tip over on Ashland, right?”

Ian nods and Mickey’s smile _shifts_. What had been friendly, even faintly amused, instantly becomes something that promises _trouble_. Ian can’t stop staring at it. He wants _in_ on whatever's being offered.

“She’s a mean old bitch. Thinks she’s better’n me just ‘cause she was around at the same time as the fuckin’ dinosaurs.”

Ian lets out a startled laugh. He’d come in here hoping that _maybe_ someone would be willing to help him out, and here he is halfway to being in love with this fucking guy. He watches Mickey rub a hand over his chest and bites the inside of his lip.

“So you’ll do it?”

Mickey nods and places his hands on the counter. Something on the backs of his fingers catches Ian’s attention and he studies them. He smiles a little as he reads the tattoos. He knows he’s been staring for too long, so he glances back up to meet Mickey’s eye.

“What’re you asking stupid fuckin’ questions for? Of _course_ I’m doing it, Gallagher.”

Ian jolts at the use of his name but quickly relaxes again when he realises how Mickey knows it. He tugs at his jacket and then shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“You wanna _pay me_ to tell that homophobic old windbag to go fuck herself. How can you be a florist and not do business with the gays? Seems to me like that’s the real sin.”

And… there’s _no_ way Mickey can be implying what Ian thinks he is. There’s no way he could ever be that lucky. But Mickey quirks his eyebrows, quick as a flash, and it looks like he’s trying to fight a smile. Ian lets _himself_ smile, knows from the ache in his cheeks that it’s taking up his whole face. Mickey grins.

“Just… do me a favour? Come back and tell me how she reacts.”

Ian laughs again and nods.

“Count on it.”

* * *

Ian is uncomfortably aware of how close this is to becoming a habit. He shifts against the post he’s leaning on, making sure the large bouquet of flowers Mickey had put together that morning for him stays out of harm’s way. He’s got no idea what any of them _are_ , but the colours are certainly _something_. A young woman with a toddler balanced on her hip and a small bouquet of yellow flowers pushes back out onto the sidewalk and disappears into another store. It’s early on a Friday afternoon so luckily there aren’t many people around yet, but he still glances both ways before hurrying across the street.

There’s a familiar figure bustling about behind the counter. She doesn’t even look up when he opens the door and steps inside, just carries on muttering under her breath as she flips through a thick folder of paper. He loiters by the display cases in the corner, pretending he knows what he’s looking at, and keeping an eye on her the entire time she works.

“Sorry about that,” she says eventually, snapping the folder closed and straightening up so she can smile at him. “How can I help you?”

He moves away from the display case and turns to face her properly. The bouquet taps against the small of his back as he takes a step forward. He watches as the smile drops away and recognition replaces it. Her face instantly turns a shade of pink so vibrant it almost matches the cardigan she’s wearing.

“Hi,” Ian says, offering her his best smile as he approaches the counter, “you might not remember me. I was in here a coupla weeks ago.”

“G-get out. You’re not welcome in here.”

Ian holds up his free hand in a placating gesture but doesn’t stop walking towards the counter. She looks so small, on the other side of the glass cabinet. So… _scared_ , of him. And he would feel bad about that, can already feel the tell-tale guilt settling in his belly in fact, except he remembers the look on her face when she’d realised that he was gay. The revulsion, the panic, the way she’d puffed herself up like she was ready for a fight.

“I won’t tell you again, get _out_ , or I’ll call the police.”

He briefly regrets that he’s not wearing his uniform, because he would _kill_ to see the look on her face when they showed up. But instead he shrugs. Pulls the flowers out from behind his back and lays them gently on the counter. Looks her right in the eye and turns his smile up several notches.

“Just wanted to give you these, to say thanks for all your _help_ the other day.”

Turning on his heel, he stalks back over to the door and yanks it open. He pauses long enough to hear her start muttering underneath her breath and then the cellophane crinkles. Then he takes off running down the street, what could only be described as a cackle getting lost in the breeze.

Ian slows down as he nears the closest station. There are a few more people around now and he takes a second to catch his breath. He briefly considers dropping by the store to tell Mickey about what happened before heading home, because there’s no way he’s gonna manage it any time soon when his shifts change next week. But he’d promised Lip he would watch Freddie for the evening, so Lip and Tami could have a proper date night for once. He sighs, stomps up the stairs to the el, and settles down to wait for his train home.

There’s a guy on the other platform who looks a little rough around the edges, audibly swearing into the phone he has pressed against his ear. It isn’t until he runs a hand through dark hair that Ian even realises why he’s looking, and once he does, he snorts at himself.

God, he can’t wait to see Mickey.

**Author's Note:**

> time for some housecleaning:  
> \- ian's pov was a lot more difficult to write for some reason and i'm lowkey worried i got him wrong?? idk i'm sorry babe i tried, but in my heart you'll always be a gawky fifteen year old with a crush  
> \- i still have it out for one (1) homophobic old lady and my hate will not be abated  
> \- the title is from the same poem by edwin curran  
> \- those pink flowers ian walks past at the beginning _are_ in fact stargazer lilies ur welcome  
> \- marcus is so named bc i was listening to last podcast on the left while writing and i would give my life for u mr parks  
> \- making you read through the same part twice was already cruel enough i'm not gonna do it to you FOUR times  
> \- editing at 2 a.m. is never a good idea, kids, but here i am doing it anyway
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://floristmick.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/floristmick) :)


End file.
